


Keeping the Apocalypse at Bay

by CarolineLahey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Everyone's alive, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolineLahey/pseuds/CarolineLahey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What if instead, we pretend, for tonight, that Beacon Hills isn’t our home town. And I’m not me. And you’re not you. We’re just two people, reckless and free, and I can kiss you without the apocalypse occuring.”</p><p>“I can do that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping the Apocalypse at Bay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salvadore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/gifts), [(markcat)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%28markcat%29).



> I loved writing to this prompt and I hope I did Stiles/Allison justice!
> 
> (Thanks Em for the beta)

“Oh my god,” says Allison, staring in disbelief out the window of the main villa at the vineyard she’s staying at, looking at a face she never thought she’d see again. But no, Stiles Stilinski is grinning at her from the other side of the glass. “Oh my god!” she shrieks again, before darting outside and hugging him tightly.

“Stiles! What are you doing here?”  
Stiles returns the hug with equal enthusiasm. “Studying abroad for my junior year and I’m in the middle of a three week break. My flatmate’s cousins own this place. What are you doing here? I thought you were in Paris.”

“I was, er, I am,” answers Allison. “Just on vacation at the moment. Dad has a lady friend coming in for the week and well, our flat’s far too small for me to want to stay around for that.”

She leads Stiles back into the tasting room, insisting that he catch her up on all the news, and gets a new bottle of wine and a cheese plate brought over to them. Stiles tells her everything is still pretty calm, that apparently a spell Lydia found their senior year of high school bound Scott’s true alpha to the nemeton and it’s kept the magic in check and stopped making Beacon Hills a beacon for monsters. Allison vaguely remembers Lydia emailing something about that, mixed in with less than subtle hints about how she was missed. She wanted to go back, she did, but the nogitsune had made a good excuse to leave, and she never could find a good enough reason to return.

“Scott and Kira are still together, expecting their first kid, and ridiculously adorable,” continues Stiles, moving into the relationship portion of the update. “Lydia has a running contest with Erica going at the station, something that’s a combination of kinky sex acts and cases solved. My dad insists he could do without the sex details, but cold cases no longer exist at the Beacon Hills Police Department so he overlooks it mostly. Personally, I think he and the rest of the deputies have a pool going to see which of the guys are going to crack first, Parrish or Boyd.” Allison watches as Stiles leans over to dip a bit of cheese in honey before he pops the bite with a fresh grape in his mouth and then licks his fingers with precision. Had she really never noticed his hands before? Those things should be illegal.

“How are you and Malia?” she asks, somewhat awkwardly in an attempt to remind herself that she can’t have these thoughts about Stiles.

Stiles shrugs. “As friends great, but we broke up freshman year. I think we needed each other for a while and I loved her, same as she loved me, but we weren’t each other’s forever. Once we got to college and had more people around us, that got easier to admit. Right now she’s down in Peru with Derek and Braeden visiting Isaac and Cora. Something about family time.”

“Good for them,” she says, meaning it sincerely, and refills their wine glasses.

* * *

 

Six hours later, they’re sitting outside of her private villa, still drinking. Allison feels pleasantly buzzed and content, her legs tangled up with Stiles’ legs as they face each other in lounge chairs. They’ve covered just about every topic over the course of the evening. It seems the pack is doing well, having bonded under Scott’s leadership and Derek’s training; the additions since she left rounding things out and filling in missing holes. Allison is glad to hear that Erica and Boyd are fully settled in the pack again. She had written a long letter to them both a few years ago, apologizing for her part in pushing them to running away from Beacon Hills, and how happy she was that they finally felt safe in returning home.

It sounds like Malia and Kira’s tendencies to push past boundaries and ignore walls have been really good for everyone. Allison bets there have been times people were pushed too far, but she’s just as guilty of hiding her emotions and not talking things through, and a part of her is jealous at the easy camaraderie that Stiles speaks of.

And then there’s Stiles himself.

He’s grown up a lot in the last few years and Skype plus pictures do not do him justice. She notes that he’s still lean, though he wears fewer layers now so she can actually tell how muscular he actually is. He moves with a careless grace, not the same flailing, perpetually in motion teenager he once was, but every so often he’ll jolt in his movement like the kid she used to know. Allison suspects some of the flailing has been gone since the nogitsune and while there’s something deeply attractive in Stiles now, she hates that it came at such a price.

There’s more than that though. When she left, Stiles was a friend, but he was mostly Scott’s best friend. Her interactions with him were filtered by her relationship with Scott and she never really knew Stiles. Now, as they’ve moved to more serious topics, she’s seeing a man she respects and admires; a man she doesn’t want to disappear from her life as fast as he came back into it.

“That’s a pretty serious look for a story about drunken werewolves,” observes Stiles.

“Sorry. I just, I want…”

“You want what?” asks Stiles, leaning forward in deeply sincere interest.

“As usual, I want what I can’t have,” she answers, her eyes on Stiles’ mouth for a few seconds too long before she catches herself and looks into his eyes.

As has often been the case with Stiles, he doesn’t exactly miss where her gaze was, and a moment later, he’s got her hands in his, leaning in close, his breath hot against her cheeks. “Can’t have? Or just don’t think you’re allowed to?”

“Either. Both.” Allison can see every little fleck of brown in Stiles’ amber eyes, they’re just that close, but she knows this is a bad idea and says as much. “Stiles, we can’t. You’ll be leaving soon and I ran away and there’s so much history and complications back in Beacon Hills. Think of the problems it could cause.”

She can tell she’s making a terrible argument (hell, she doesn’t believe much of it, except the fact that this would wreak at least temporary havoc) because Stiles just whispers, “Ally,” and then he’s kissing her. His hands, fuck those hands, tilt her head back just right and for just a few seconds, she lets go. Allison kisses back with everything she’s got, figuring she’ll make it one for the books. Stiles’ tongue is about as talented as his fingers, barely letting her come up for air, not that she’s all that concerned.

Somehow she ends up straddling Stiles’ lap, both of them back in Stiles’ chair. He’s staring up at her in something like awe and she can’t help but run her hands through his tousled hair. “Stiles, we have to stop,” she insists once more.

He pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and runs his fingers along the edge of her jaw. “What if instead, we pretend, for tonight, that Beacon Hills isn’t our home town. And I’m not me. And you’re not you. We’re just two people, reckless and free, and I can kiss you without the apocalypse occuring.”

Allison gives in. “I can do that.”

* * *

 

Sometime the next morning, when the sun is streaming through the windows, and it’s closer to lunch than breakfast, Allison stretches luxuriously, feeling as content as her cat back in Paris. She pulls on Stiles’ plaid shirt that was left on the floor--because some things never change--and makes up a French press of coffee to wake herself and Stiles up.

She may also take a moment to be grateful that good wine doesn’t leave one with the sort of miserable hangover cheap, boxed wine does.

She’s on her second cup of coffee by the time Stiles wakes up. He looks around, bewildered and flailing a bit, before noticing her grinning at him from the couch, and then his entire face lights up. For all that she briefly worried what might come next--would they need to talk, would this be just the one time or for this trip or until he went back to Beacon HIlls and what if she wants to go back to Beacon Hills--Stiles quickly assuages her fears with his next actions.

He leans in and kisses her softly, brushing her hair back from her face and Allison is pretty sure she’s grinning like an absolute fool. “Morning.”

“Morning, Stiles,” she answers.

“Can I convince you to share your coffee?” he asks.

Allison pours a cup in response, adding only a splash of milk, even though she’s kind of amazed she still remembers how he takes his coffee. The inquisitive look on his face holds the same question.

“You made this whole rant once about how the station coffee tasted like tar but you’d drink it waiting on your dad loaded with cream and sugar but it made actual good coffee taste weak so you drink it with only a little milk to soothe the acidity.” Allison shrugs at him. “I guess it stuck.”

“I guess so.”

They sip in silence for a while, though Allison keeps poking at Stiles’ leg with her toes, just to get him to wrap his ankle around hers and tug her back towards him.

“Think you can make a stop in Paris before your vacation is done?” she asks.

“I don’t see how I could miss a place filled with such beauty,” he answers, staring only at her, and it’s the cheesiest moment ever but she still blushes. “I might have to use a few of my holidays to come visit if that’s alright. Then it’s one tough year to get my degree.”

Allison hesitates for a second, not at the idea of Stiles visiting more, but at her current thoughts, before blurting out, “Do you need a roommate in San Francisco?”

Stiles stares. “You’d come back? What about the whole the world might end if you returned to California and all of that from last night?”

She opens her mouth to reply when suddenly Stiles’ hand is on hers and he’s cutting her off. “Not that I don’t need a roommate and wouldn’t love to have you. I can’t imagine going so long without seeing you anymore and I think France has had you long enough. But are you sure?”

Allison leans in and kisses Stiles with as much weight and sincerity as she can possibly put in a kiss, tangling her fingers in his hair and tilting his head back so she can make the kiss a little deeper, a little harder to forget. “I think between the two of us, we can keep the apocalypse at bay.”


End file.
